


Waste of Clean Linen

by The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette



Series: Red Dead Imagines [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Confession, Gen, Gender Neutral, Gun Wound, Reader Death, inaccurate description of death process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette/pseuds/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette
Summary: You've been shot cleaning out a bandit camp. If only you could tell Arthur how you feel before you go.





	Waste of Clean Linen

**Author's Note:**

> Ever had three am thoughts where you imagine things and then curl up into your pillow and sob uncontrollably? Yeah, good times.

The burn was almost surprising at first, jarring you out of the mindset you needed to take out the bandit camp and leaving you raw, like an opened nerve exposed to fire. You took a reflexive breath, and the pain blossomed, knees giving out and legs crumpling beneath you. Fire bloomed up your chest, out your throat, but no sound came out, just a dry heave.

When you landed on the dirt, you could see the aftermath out of the corner of your eye. Your sternum was a red mess, amazing it missed your lungs, but your feeble inhales and the burning ache left little doubt it had tore through your diaphragm and liver. Your hands were shaking, raised upwards, gripping the air as if pulling down a curtain, unable to drop them back to your side.

You could hear still, miraculously, over a dull ringing from the back of your head. Sean's voice, boisterous, goading; the soft words of Charles trying to corral the Irishman. And over that, a harsh drawl that called out your name sharply, moving closer and closer as Arthur made a sweep, looking for you.

You must have made some noise, or maybe it was your waving hands, but the footsteps were soon racing to where you were laid out like a gutted hog.

"Shit, Charles! Bring the goddamn medicine and some cloth!"

Hands were pressing against your wound, but you couldn't feel anything other than that they were there. Nothing seemed to lessen the fire that was slowly pooling through your veins, hands falling limp as Arthur peered down at you.

Arthur fucking Morgan, fussing over you. You must've smiled, because you could feel the blood dribbling down your chin, and the thundering arc of his eyebrows left little imagination that you looked a right bloody mess. It was almost funny, you had to end up shot to get him to look at you, really look at you. You would've laughed, if you weren't already light headed from what little oxygen your faltering lungs managed to bring in. Still, you might manage a word or two.

"Look bad?" It was supposed to be a question, but came out only two puffs of air, barely words.

"Don't you fucking talk." Pressure disappeared from the wound, and then returned as Arthur pressed a cloth over the mess. At least he wasn't dumb enough to try and get you to drink the medicine. Charles was hovering somewhere near your ankles. Where Sean was, you didn't give a shit. All that mattered was those ocean eyes. Had to remember them.

Another breath, hardly moving your chest. "Bout time now, Arthur."

"I said don't talk." That particular tone had barely ever been directed at you, but now his temper just made you grin, muscles pulling up as more blood slipped out. You licked at it, and then coughed at the taste, causing more pressure on your wound.

"Waste of clean linen."

"I. Said. Don't. Talk." There was a hand on your face, sliding around to cup the back of your head as he lifted it to keep you from drowning in your own blood. You didn't have the heart or the strength to tell him it was sliding into your lungs. Just a couple more breaths, eyes flickering back to his when you realized they had slid away. Count the seconds, try to breathe again, finding even less movement.

"Selfish."

His lips pressed into a hard line, but he couldn't really stop you. Arthur would have to beat you to keep you silent, and that wasn't an option at this moment.

"Wantin." Breath, struggle, "to see you as I go." No fear now, no pain of rejection.

Understanding was slow to dawn in his eyes, but when it did it was swiftly followed with a glimmer of pain so sharp you let your eyes skitter away for a moment, fearful to look at pity. Dying, that was easy. Pity from Arthur, a much harder pill to swallow.

When his fingers rubbed your cheek, your eyes chanced looking again, and you damned near forgot to breathe.

Acceptance, cold and hard, ringed around the pain. And you felt a twinge, wondering what sorrow this man would write in his journal when you were gone, if you'd even be worth a jotted sentence next to a picture.

"I always... admired you." Those four words cost you dearly, but in for a penny, in for a pound as you broke off to heave, face giving a twitch.

He might as well know it all, and you wished you could tell him all. How your eyes would always find his back in a crowd, how you gravitated towards his form. Sought jobs to work with him, scraped for reasons to be in his presence. It was damn near pathetic, the way you craved even a single word in passing. It was more pathetic than your shallow breaths, wheezing and audible as they left you, each slower than the last. Pathetic as the blood dribbling into your shirt.

"Shhh," his hands smoothed over your brow, tucking your hair back. "It's ok now."

You blinked in confusion, then realized with dismay that tears were streaking across your temples and into your hairline. Arthur's fingers kept up the slow motion, and you found yourself staring into his eyes again as the world started whiting out at the edges. They were so blue...

Fingers clutched, gave a spasm, and then a firm palm slid against yours, letting you grip them tightly. Another breath, at least you thought so, unable to feel if your chest rose at all.

"Arthur," it came out a sigh as your grip slackened in his, and after a moment he reached up and closed your eyes.

****

_Had to bury a friend today. It gets harder every time. Weren't a pretty way to go, damn near impressive how long they lingered. That weren't the thing that stuck though. Those eyes, calm as can be. I've seen grown men sob and squeal when they know the end is near, and yet this kid faced it all with courage.  
I am a goddamn fool, and a coward. I waited too long. I suspect I shall see those eyes for a while_.


End file.
